


Frozen Fingers

by kindofspecificstore



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Elemental Magic, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over, Snow Queen Elements, Snow and Ice, Soulmates, maybe? - Freeform, that time David pulled an Elsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofspecificstore/pseuds/kindofspecificstore
Summary: Forever cold, David Rose can control winter at the palm of his hands. But can the boy with the sun in his eyes melt David's frozen heart?
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose
Comments: 71
Kudos: 64
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	1. Frosted

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



> Happy Frozen Over! I saw this prompt floating around and I couldn't bear to let it go unclaimed. To the person with the wonderful idea- thank you! I had the most fun creating this world, and I hope it is everything you were wishing for. Essentially, I put a bunch of Snow Queen elements in a blender and blasted "Into the Unknown." To my betas, thank you so much for your cheerleading, amazing ideas, communication via Frozen GIFs, and gorgeous banner art. This work would not be what it is without you.
> 
>   
> **Prompt:**
> 
> ANYTHING VAGUELY SNOW QUEEN RELATED would be a delight. 
> 
> If you were so inclined some of the stories within the Snow Queen verse would make magical Schitts Creek Au’s. Just hea or very hopeful ending please. 🥰
> 
> But look- any way which idea of snow queen inspires you, please use it! Is David a snow queen trying to keep people with him for company as he’s so cold, lonely and lost? Has Alexis become a snow queen and only David knows (yet again!) how he can save her (meeting Patrick on the way?). Do David and Patrick just go see the ballet together. Seriously any thing involving Snow Queen, even very loosely, would make me very happy.
> 
> ***
> 
> The epigraph is a quotation from Yasaman Aryani, Iranian women's rights activist. The story behind her words doesn't necessarily fit within this AU, but they held great importance to me at the time I was writing.

_I sprout on the wounds of my body, only for my crime of being_

* * *

Legend has it that Schitt’s Creek was run by the Four Roses. Not the flowers, but the people that were named after such. No one who carries the oral histories of one such magical place can recall a time before the family four had breathed life into it. According to rumour, without the family, magic itself would cease to exist. 

The Rose children, David and Alexis, would climb out onto the roof of their home to play, inventing worlds that were far removed from the small, small village they seemed cosmically chained to. It was a provincial town made of simple means, housing all who worked at the pulp mill. Those who didn’t, unless they were Roses, were tradespeople, rendering the community self-sufficient. It was a hidden gem amongst elm forests and farmland, a well kept mystery that had never witnessed a change in season; a happy, perpetual summer.

The dwellings in Schitt’s Creek were all connected, running along the main street of the village. Half looked out onto the cobblestone and creek, while the ones behind backed out onto the forest. If one were to climb out of the highest window at the back end of a row house, they’d find themselves on a small cement landing, looking up at a roof on either side of them. It was a perfect place for crows to nest, and for children with less-than present parents to play. 

The flower boxes lined the gutters of every house, dark soil brimming with fresh red roses. Alexis would run her hands mere inches above them, daring to go to the farthest tip of the roof to feel the soft leathery petals graze the inside of her palms. The flowers bloomed whenever she was near, just as the trees budded and the grass became greener. She had a smell about her akin to fresh morning dew; it was uplifting and suggested an air of mystery. Sometimes, the fantasies they spun together wouldn’t be enough to keep Alexis up on that roof. She would wander off into neighbouring towns within the elm forests, too fascinated by the people and places to return home. The garden boxes would wilt in her absence, the leaves on the trees devoid of their rich green.

David didn’t know why his younger sister could have such immense power over these things. Alexis made everything bloom and grow. His father kept the currents moving and pushing the old pulp mill, and his mother—it seemed as though his mother could do anything. All David ever got was cold hands. Cold, cold, cold. All little David ever was was cold. He would dig for archival silks and furs from his mother’s wardrobe, cocooning himself while he rubbed the tips of his tiny pink fingers against his thumbs. It didn’t matter how much the sun shone—David Rose would be always and forever cold. 

Perhaps it was because he lived in the garret. Though the Roses owned the town, the house in which they lived was much like the rest; it was its insides that displayed their true elegance and the otherwise hidden wealth of the family. And they had the entire row house, not just the one floor as the unknown family living next to them had had. So maybe David was cold because his room was in the attic, where the ceiling beams came down at an angle sharp enough for him to hit his head should he decide to get up in the middle of the night. It was where he liked to be. It came with a certain degree of solitude he craved. He knew; he felt in his bones he was unlike the other children who played in the village, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. 

As they ran up and down the roofs one morning, Alexis had caught the eye of a young blond boy running with a scrappy dog down in the street below. She said a quick goodbye to her older brother before whizzing down the gutter like a trained escape artist. David called for her to come back, but her golden curls flew in the breeze as she tried to catch up with the boy and his dog. David was used to Alexis leaving, but it was becoming more and more common these days. And without Alexis to play with, whatever was a boy to do? Evenings could be spent in his room, reading storybooks or working new dreams into the many blank pages of his hand-bound leather journals. But the sun was still up and shining, and there was too much time left in the day for him to already be headed inside. He slumped down onto the slanted roof, his feet kicking past his sister’s beautiful red flowers and swinging over the gutters. 

David wrapped his arms around himself as tight as he possibly could, face scrunched up and slowly being covered with hot tears. He didn’t like it when his sister ran away. It frightened him. He felt so alone. In these moments, the chill from his fingertips started to spread up his arms, through to his shoulder like a slow, creeping inch. It wasn’t necessarily a good feeling, but still one he found comfort in. But just as this cold heaviness was starting to reach toward his chest, he felt a gentle tug on his left boot. A mysterious tugging, for no one was ever on this roof other than him and his sister, and even his mother’s wind wouldn’t carry anyone back that fast.

He looked down at his feet and blinked his watery eyes. A small child stood before him, looking up from the landing; a boy only a year or two younger than him. He didn’t wear fancy tailored clothes like David and Alexis. He was dressed in a more simple fashion, with a cloudy blue shirt and sturdy brown bottoms. His shoes were scuffed like he did more than just scutter about on the rooftops. Given the smudges of soot on his face, he looked like he belonged to the blacksmith next door. But his eyes. His eyes are what David noticed first. They were brown, a shade lighter than David’s with flecks of gold that made them glow in the sun. The boy looked up at him, eyes wide in wonder and curiosity, hand still reaching up, resting—gripping—firmly on David’s right boot. He almost wanted to shake the boy’s hand off. Or perhaps slap it. But David surprised himself by scooting closer to the very edge of the flower boxes and unfurling his arms so he could hug his knees. He opened his mouth but soon found that this new acquaintance had him at a loss for words. Who was this boy? And what was he doing on the roof?

The boy pulled nervously at his head full of auburn curls, which seemed to spill every which way. 

“Do you want to play?” the boy asked, voice timid and curious.

David felt his mouth shut and head bob up and down. He did want to play. Surprising himself, he felt his body pull up from his seat off the roof, bounding up and over to land with two feet on the small concrete strip below. It was almost like floating—as if some invisible force had picked him up and pushed him towards this other boy. It couldn’t have been his mother—she and father were out on a stroll by the river, minding the mill. He realized that he still hadn’t said so much as an utterance to this mystery boy, but the gaps were filled in for him.

“I’m Patrick. I live next door.” This boy named Patrick gestured to the house connected to David’s. It seemed clean and well kept enough, though in comparison to the Roses’ luxurious home, one would almost assume this new boy’s to be threadbare. Patrick’s gaze suddenly became distracted, fixating upon David’s feet. And why wouldn’t it? David Rose probably had the shiniest, most fancy shoes of all the children in the village. David followed Patrick’s gaze to find a singular rose at his feet that must have been uprooted from the flower beds when David made his way off the roof. Curious. David’s eyes bored into the red petals. His thoughts stilled. Alexis wouldn’t like to have one of her flowers torn out of the boxes, but it looked so pretty there. Pretty enough to give to a boy with eyes of honey and coffee.

“You can have this,” David picked up the rose and stretched out his hand towards Patrick’s. 

Patrick stared at the flower with wonder before snapping his gaze up to meet David’s. 

“Only if you can catch me first,” his eyes twinkled. 

David gasped in shock. This boy was just like Alexis! Running away without a care in the world. He watched as Patrick scampered up the roof, scraping his hands on the gutter boxes and shingles. It would only be a matter of moments before he too, left. 

Instead, Patrick turned around once he found his footing.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” Patrick gestured frantically. “Make me work for it!” And then he booked it along the top of the roof, footing as nimble as if he were on a tightrope. It only took David a moment before he clued in. He willed himself to get back up on the rooftops and scampered after this new, mysterious boy who wouldn’t receive a flower unless David chased after him with it. How absurd.

Patrick ran along the tops of the row houses, at least two ahead of David, hair glinting in the early afternoon sun. It seemed as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Patrick was a happy, happy boy. And so was David. He felt a warmth bloom inside his chest, spreading out to the rest of him as he laughed and chased Patrick over the rooftops. Even his fingertips started to prickle with an unthawing sensation. Who was this boy? And what was he doing to David? 

They ran the whole block before Patrick seemed to get tired. He slowed down his footsteps before arriving at a halt. David was so focused on playing catch up that he all but barrelled into him. 

“What are you doing?” David asked, rose still in hand. 

Patrick turned around once more, facing away from the sun. The brilliant light hugged his curls, nearly making them glow.

“The sun, David. Doesn’t it feel nice?” His face appeared overcome with a sense of peace.

Once again, David had to stop and consider. Such a simple thought, yet it had never crossed David’s mind before. He must have been pondering quite some time as he watched Patrick breathe in the fresh, warm air. David’s thoughts, or lack thereof, were interrupted by a gentle brush on his fingertips. If it were any other child in the village, David would have whipped his hand away and snapped at them not to touch, whereas this felt different. Welcome, almost. 

“It’s a pretty flower,” Patrick’s eyes were now open as he gently coaxed the rose out of David’s hand.

David shrugged. “You can have it.”

If the sun hadn’t already broken, the smile on young Patrick’s face might have done just as much. He happily put his nose to the flower as David looked on in wonder. He knew in that moment that he would uproot all of Alexis’s garden boxes to see that smile played infinitely. 

“Come on then,” Patrick looked up at David. His eyes still twinkled with mystery, though his gaze was softer than before. David’s brow must have wrinkled with puzzlement, for Patrick was suddenly taking David’s free hand in his and shuffling down towards the edge of the roof. 

And so the two young boys continued to play on the roofs, hand in hand. At some point as the sun would sink down, Alexis would return to join them. And they were happy, just as any young child in this life would be; blissfully unknowing of the tumultuous future laid out before them. 


	2. Heart of Stone

As time followed the row houses of Schitt’s Creek, the Rose siblings were met with their teenage years. David and Alexis continued to play together, though not as often as they once had. David kept feeling the cold, creeping sensation sink its way back towards his heart, and along with the changes in his voice and height that filter through all young boys, the cold had begun to manifest beyond his fingertips. 

At moments of stress and anxiety, David could have snow or ice emerge from his palms. It was never enough to grab attention, for that was the last thing David Rose wished for. Instead, he would lie in his bed, kept up by the early morning sun and the tightening call in his chest, and begin to draw with a lazily pointed finger on the window pane. What had started off as patterns in the condensation had soon turned into elaborate filigree made of frost. Luckily, the strong sun of endless summer was keen to melt it away as David pulled himself out of bed every morning, and no one ever saw it. 

Or at least David presumed as much. His mother constantly encouraged him to wear leather gloves, for she claimed his icy touch was simply unyielding to any warm blooded creature. 

The one thing that did pull David out of bed was Patrick. Though his growth spurt had yet to come and he found himself much shorter than David—much to David’s delight and Patrick’s chagrin, the young boy was growing into a strong jaw and broad shoulders. David longed to reach out and touch such features, but he feared that his subzero temperatures would ward Patrick’s smile away. 

They still played just as much as before. Patrick kept trying to teach David and Alexis complicated games involving different balls, but nothing had ever stuck. After all, the roofs and the garrets were meant for worlds that were pretend: games with complicated  _ rules  _ didn’t always apply. 

It was always warm and sunny, so they could always be out on the roofs. There was never any need to go inside unless they were visiting the worlds within David’s collection of storybooks. David had volunteered once to venture into Patrick’s home to find his particularly favourite ball, but Patrick quickly shut him down with stammering syllables.

David had assumed it was because the Brewers, the name he now knew Patrick’s family as, did not have as equal of wealth as the Roses, and Patrick was far too embarrassed for David to bear witness to his simple means. But in actuality, Patrick had his own secrets he was safely keeping. 

Patrick had been hiding his rose from David ever since the day they met. For all David knew, it had wilted and been tossed aside once the two of them finally retreated to their respective homes that very evening. This was not the case. David’s rose was kept in a glass bottle sitting on Patrick’s window sill in his very own garret dwelling. Every morning he’d draw the curtains closed—partly because his mother didn’t want anything to get bleached by the sun, partly because he would be embarrassed if David were to find out he kept it after all those years. 

It was almost impressive, the fact that Patrick had been able to keep the rose alive for this long. Even without Alexis’s help. All he ever did was change the water every morning. At night, he’d lie in bed in the drafty garret, wrapped up in a scratchy wool blanket. Patrick Brewer was never one to get cold. There was a warmth radiating within him that easily fought off against the chill of endless summer evenings. Even when Mrs. Rose threw a sudden gust of wind as she told one of her stories, he never got goose flesh on his arms like everyone else did. 

There was something in David that differed so much from Patrick. Whenever Mrs. Rose spent one of her Bad Days in the wardrobe, or when Alexis ran off to play with boys like Mutt and Theodore, David would become withdrawn. 

It didn’t help that Alexis was becoming more and more adventurous, travelling way beyond the lands of the Greater Elms. There was one day inked forever into Patrick’s memory, when he woke up to the sight of a wilting rose at his bedside. It was the slightest change, only something someone would notice if they had risen next to it each day, recalling the sensation of prying it from the soft and icy fingertips that had lit his heart on fire. 

When he had climbed outside his window that day, all the roses in the garden boxes seemed to be drooping. 

He didn’t want David to worry. Maybe he hadn’t taken notice. But in the late afternoon, when the two of them were hiding in David’s room reading stories under a fort of blankets, the familiar wailing of the matron Rose came echoing from the floors below. 

“Hong Kong!” Moira shrieked.

Patrick watched David become still, eyes calculating. A familiar caw of crows echoed from outside. 

“Who even names their child Prairie?! And a permanent tattoo on one’s lower back. How inappropriate. How inelegant. How--” 

Moira’s exasperation seemed to be temporarily quelled by her husband, though David was in no such state. As the murmurs continued from the lower levels of the home and the wind whistled beyond the window panes, Patrick watched in awe at David’s fingers clenched white-knuckled around his leather-bound volume. An honest to goodness frost started to seep from David’s hands, covering the leafy pages until it became a block of ice. 

When the whispers from his parents were no longer audible, David broke out of his trance with a gasp, eyes caught in Patrick’s gaze.

The frozen volume dropped out of David’s hands and crashed to the floor. Shards of ice flew every which way. Patrick drank in the fractals scattered about the floorboards, but before he could so much as look back up at David, he heard a harsh and heartbroken voice.

“Get out.”

Patrick scrambled to his feet, consequentially knocking down the fort of linens they had so carefully constructed together. “Okay, I’ll leave, I’ll leave,” he pleaded to David, batting aimlessly at the blankets to escape.

“I don’t want to hurt you Patrick, you have to leave!” 

“I’m going.” Patrick’s voice broke, too afraid to look behind him as he climbed out David’s window. 

Out on the rooftops, the clouds had started to blow over—Mrs. Rose must have brought a cold front in, the crows beginning to circle in the skies. Patrick climbed onto the roof of his family’s home, vision blurred with hot tears. He stared up at the sun, willing it to shine through the cracks of the darkening rain clouds. 

Patrick would often stay like that, staring at the sun. He told it to keep shining whenever Mr. Rose made the rain come down, crying out for his daughter to return home. 

And Alexis did, eventually. She always did. In the spaces between, Patrick would go to David’s bedroom window, tapping on it to ask if David would come out and play. In the times they would await Alexis’s return, David had a habit of spending the days with the curtains drawn closed and the windows frosted to his own design. If things could be different, Patrick would climb in through David’s window and crawl into bed with him. He’d pry his frozen fingers from whatever was captive in his icy grip, and splay them over his warm heart. If things were different. If nothing since childhood had changed.

Patrick never asked, never probed. For if he did, he feared David might push him further away. It was only when Alexis returned that David climbed out his window wearing a smile that tried to pretend nothing ever happened. So Patrick let him have his days in bed, because seeing David less was better than not having him at all. 

One day, in the months following the incident of frozen books and collapsed blanket forts, David and Patrick were once again balancing on the rooftops. Patrick had taken to bringing clementines with him, tossing them about and trying to balance them on his nose. They not only made a great snack but also brought him the joy of hearing David’s pealing laughter at his expense. 

He was just starting to juggle the fruit while walking when a strong and sudden gust of wind broke his concentration. A murder of crows came in the gale, taking Patrick’s clementines with them. 

“Hostage? By pirates in Somalia!” If the crows hadn’t been their first clue, then the wailing that came from the streets below cleared things up. 

“It was in a message in a bottle, sweetheart, that’s all I know.”

Patrick felt the blood drain from his fingers and cheeks. Just a few feet away from him, ice began to shoot out from under David’s feet.

“David,” Patrick whispered. He shuffled towards the other boy, who stood still as a statue.

David’s eyebrows shot up in panic as he noticed the growing expanse of ice that had begun to cover the rooftops. Patrick felt himself slip just a fraction before David cried out.

“Patrick no!” David pushed his hands out to brace him.

Instead of holding Patrick at arm’s length, bursts of snow came from David’s palms, shooting Patrick square in the chest. He felt his breath being knocked out of him with the impact of the cold and fluffy clouds, then found himself flying beyond the tops of the row houses. 

He landed in a heap on the ground below, staring up at the beautiful lone figure on the roof. He watched in awe as harsh flurries continued to pour from David’s palms and crystallize the trees and houses with ice. The rolling green grasses became blanketed with a heavy powder. 

Patrick kept watching as the endless summer disappeared before him. His eyes grew laden and heavy as he came down from the initial shock. He heard the faint cries of the townspeople ringing in his ears from what seemed like miles away. The last thing he saw was David on the roof, wrapping himself up with a cyclone of wind and snow.

Then, Patrick fell asleep. 


	3. Eyes that Held the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I listened to Apollo by Noah Reid a lot while I was writing this.

His teenage years had long since passed him by; each one marked only with endless snow and long winter nights. It was almost as if the shrinking presence of the sun had made time pass slower. The only things Patrick could tell had changed were the dark circles under his eyes, his sharpened features, and the hair on his face that had finally decided to grow. 

He didn’t know how long it had been exactly, for in winter it seemed like the days began to bleed together. Though he still apprenticed under his father’s blacksmith trade, the main source of income for Schitt’s Creek was ice. As far as the waters would reach, everything was frozen: the pulp mill rendered inoperable. The town counted their blessings for Mr. Rose, who had somehow managed to quickly find a new revenue stream amidst the grief for both his disappearing children.

They hadn’t heard from Alexis since the day they learned of her hostage situation, supposedly at the hands of the pirates of Somalia. No one knew what had happened. At first, they waited for word back, but with the river frozen, there was no chance of receiving another message in a bottle. There was no way of knowing when—or if—she’d ever come back. And there was no way of unthawing the river.

At first, Mr. and Mrs. Rose sent out search parties; half the villagers would go beyond the Elms to seek Alexis, the other half remaining within close, snowy regions in search of David. The trouble was in the beginning, they didn’t know exactly what they were looking for. The last thing anyone saw on that dreadful day was just as Patrick remembered: a cyclone of wind and snow. 

There were stories-- fragments, whispers, from those who had managed to return alive. Alive yet empty handed. They spun tales of mountains in the north so high they took days to climb. It could’ve been altitude sickness, but Gwendolyn, a village elder, claimed she’d envisioned a glorious palace of ice. Patrick chose to believe her, clinging on to the thought that somewhere, David was safe. No one could confirm whether or not the palace Gwendolyn spoke of had been a mirage, but they all agreed that David was the one who had ignited the eternal winter. 

The population in Schitt’s Creek had suffered not only from the dwindling search parties, but also of newfound illnesses from the common cold to pneumonia and hypothermia. They could no longer risk sending any additional villagers out, as everyone depended on each other for survival. In the beginning, it was a lot to get used to. There was always firewood that had to be chopped, animals that had to be trapped for furs… Patrick’s mother had even taken stones from the hearth and placed them in between the sheets to keep their family warm at night. Not that Patrick really needed it. He suspected it was the warmth in his heart that allowed him to carry on through the freezing temperatures: to hang onto the shred of hope that one day, Alexis might return. If Alexis returned, David would surely come home again. He could melt the snow that had enveloped the town, and everyone could be happy again. 

Each morning, Patrick tended to the rose at his bedside. It was permanently wilted, though it never dried out or lost a petal. He would give it fresh water and sing an old folk song to it, wrapping his hands around the glass bottle to keep the water from freezing. The sound of Patrick’s voice would drift through the rafters of the row house and down to the main floor of his father’s shop. It brought his mother and father such joy to hear Patrick’s voice, for the long winter had also been hard on people’s spirits. One morning, much before anyone else was due to rise, Patrick woke from slumber. The rose had nearly folded in half, a single petal fallen on his bedside table. 

That morning he sang ballad after ballad, holding the glass with unsteady hands. Nothing. If Alexis wasn’t alright in the days and months and years since her disappearance, her unknown state was certainly worsened now. 

Patrick made a decision. He could no longer stand by every morning and wait for the Rose siblings to come home again. He had to go out and find them. 

He made quick work of getting dressed and packing a bag, making sure to include plenty of nuts, clementines, and all of his ice cutting tools. He took his time to write a heartfelt note to his family to leave at his bedside. The last thing he did before quietly climbing the ladder downstairs was take one last glance at the flower. This time, he was bringing it with him. He didn’t bother cutting the stem; he simply put the whole of the rose on the inside pocket of his coat, as close as it could be to his heart.

Patrick ventured towards the creek, knowing exactly who he needed to hunt down and ask to come with him. It was still early morning, so the sky was just a shade lighter than jet black. They wouldn’t fully see the sun til after midday. The street lamps glowed in the sparkling snowy banks as he trudged in his snowshoes over to the grove of barren trees.

Theodore was just the man Patrick needed. Once a scrappy looking boy who had played with all the neighbourhood dogs, Theodore had now blossomed into a strapping young gentleman and taken full charge of the sleds that transported the town’s shipments of ice. Patrick knew that as much as the man loved his job, the mention of a certain Rose would have him willing to go anywhere. 

Theodore was just where Patrick thought he would be: lashing the dogs to their sleds for the first morning sojourn.

“Alexis is in trouble, and I can’t find her alone.” Partick didn’t bother with pleasantries, as they needed to get on the water in ample time. The other man simply nodded with a knowing look in his eye. Even if Mr. Rose hadn’t sent out a search party in quite some time, Theodore was loyal enough to the family Rose to help wherever he could. As luck would have it, the sled was already packed and ready with extra food, firewood, and warm layers.

They headed off together in the darkness of the early morning, the dogs full of energy for the first in a day’s ride. There was nothing but the sound of the rudders on snow dusted ice, the panting of the dogs as their paws clicked and padded while they ran, and the soft commands from Theodore’s expert steering. The air was completely still; therefore, Mrs. Rose must have still been in a slumber. They drove the sled, working in tandem as the creek bled into the larger river that ran through the Greater Elms. They kept on, watching the sky fade from indigo to light blue, soon filled with blotted pinks and lavenders. Neither man knew quite exactly what they were looking for, but Patrick felt in his bones he would know when he saw it.

When the sun finally broke the sky, they stopped to rest. Patrick carved a hole in the ice with one of the tools in his pack so that the dogs could drink. He momentarily removed his gloves to rub Theodore’s hands to keep them warm. They continued on after a moment’s pause, making it all the way to the county limits. The wooden sign was there, hung within the heavily snow-capped trees and welcoming all those who entered the neighbouring towns. No one had bothered to fix it since their world had become buried in snowbanks, but there it stood, slowly decaying from Mrs. Rose’s harsh winds. 

But curiously, there was a single tree next to the sad sign that seemed to be unaware of the season’s change, free of snow and showing signs of budding green. In their many passages beyond the Elms to deliver ice, neither Patrick nor Theodore had seen such a thing. If they had, they would’ve certainly remembered something this odd. This remarkable.

With one simple command, Patrick had their whole party cease to a halt. Theodore looked at the tree curiously, allowing Patrick to proceed ahead under the pale blue-grey sky while he gave the dogs their first meal. 

Upon stepping closer to the direction of the tree, he felt the strong thudding of his heart. Could this be?

At that, Patrick started to run, legs kicking up the heavy white powder.

And there, lying at the base of the tree, was a frail young woman with golden locks of hair. Though her complexion was a ghostly pale and her lips were on the verge of turning blue, Patrick knew that face anywhere. 

“Alexis!” he called out, collapsing to the woman’s side.

She looked up at him through frozen eyelashes, cheeks paled and words tired and weak. 

“I was trying… I was trying to come home.”

“I know,” Patrick wrapped his arms around her. “I know you were.”

He felt Alexis’s body hum all enclosed within the thick furs of his coat. Alexis was by no means dressed for winter. She wore leather sandals and a draping white peasant dress with intricate scarlet embroidery, the cut of the material purposefully leaving her shoulders and knees bare. With so much of her skin exposed to the elements, it was no wonder that she was showing signs of serious danger. He could cover the woman in furs and hold the sun before her, but it would only be a temporary fix. They needed to find David as soon as possible. 

Patrick felt a heavy  _ thump-thump _ from his inside breast pocket. Despite his resistance, Alexis pawed at his coat, undoing the fastening with shaking, near frozen hands. They both stared in wonder at the depths of his pocket, Patrick at the state of the seemingly fresh rose, and Alexis at its mere presence.

“My roses,” he heard her whisper. 

“In due time.” He picked her up and carried her back to Theodore’s sled. “First, we need to find your brother.”

“D-d-david?”

Patrick suspected Alexis had more to say, but what with the rate of her chattering teeth, it was a wonder her utterances were still comprehensible.

Theodore made quick work of making room in the sled and wrapping Alexis up in as many wool blankets as possible. Though the longing look in his eye made Patrick want to take over the steering of the sled for Theodore, he knew that his warm heart could keep the youngest Rose from freezing to near death. 

He didn’t dare fall asleep or lose sight of the glowing sun, for now with Alexis safe, it felt as though they were that much closer to David. 


	4. Melted into Spring

It felt as though they had been driving for days. Hard to tell how time had stretched out before them, but something in Patrick’s spirit felt the sun had extended its typical welcome. The land surrounding them became more and more elevated, slowly merging into the glacial rocks belonging to the northern territories. It was commonly known that David’s powers had stretched far and wide on that fateful day they’d been blessed with winter, but never before had he seen its impact reach as far as this. 

Alexis stirred very little in his arms, but she kept breathing in the buttery sun like a drug. Though her lips were no longer of bluish hue, the woman was a frail echo of what Patrick knew she once was. Even still, she twirled her fingers in the threads of his fur coat, slowly unbending and continuing to breathe life into the treasured rose on the inside pocket. She mumbled her brother’s name over and over again into Patrick’s coat, holding the two syllables on her tongue like a prayer. 

Patrick held Alexis closer, eyes fixated on the glowing orb ahead as he continued to manifest clear skies until they arrived at this rumoured palace, the palace he told himself had to have been real. The sky softened into pinks and reds, the rocky cliffs giving way to cavernous mountains that towered over the ever-expanding ravine underneath them. The prolonged sunlight fissured in Patrick’s bones, allowing his whole body to soften. He let his eyes rest for what felt like a moment, only to be stirred awake by Theodore’s low whistle. The singular note commanded the sled dogs to slow to a gradual halt and encouraged Patrick’s eyes to crack open. 

What was once a river had now opened up into the mouth of a glorious lake, reaching so wide one had to squint to see the deciduous trees wrapping around its edges. Directly before them was a mountain, stretching up higher than even the ones painted into storybooks. 

And there, sitting just before its peak, was the most beautiful palace that had ever graced the human eye. The gloss it rendered in the disappearing sun gave way to its impossible construction of ice, every turret coming down in sharp, symmetrical angles. Patrick would bet that when he got closer, he would see the minuscule details matching the very frosted filigree David once adorned his bedroom window pane with. 

Patrick must have been transfixed on the mountain for quite some time, as Theodore had to shake him out of his trance while undoing the lashings on the sled. The man’s face became uneasy at the sight of Alexis all bundled up. He removed one of his leather gloves to inspect her pulse, now having reached a dangerously low rhythm. They needed to make quick work to find their way to the peak of this mysterious mountain. 

“The dogs are afraid of heights,” Theodore confessed, face falling in concern. “You’re welcome to take your share of the blankets with you for the journey, but I do regret that I can't be with you  _ fur _ any longer.”

Patrick chuckled in kind. The men worked together to bind Alexis’s sleeping figure to Patrick’s back, allowing him to carry her like he once did when they were small children playing atop the row houses. He made diligent work of treading to the base of the mountain in his snowshoes and marking out the winding path he’d have to take as the sun slipped behind the mountain. 

It would be a long journey that would take them well into the night. And though the daylight was nearly gone, he could make out stray furs and packing equipment dotted throughout the mountain trail. It had become clear to him that they were indeed on the right path, and perhaps many villagers of the journeys past had perished on this trek. But Patrick refused to let himself and Alexis arrive at a similar fate, as if he hadn’t woken up for the past handful of years, wishing for this beautiful boy to come home. There wasn’t the slightest chance in him stopping now, in allowing his or Alexis’s body to submit to the harsh elements. 

Patrick walked and he walked and he walked, squeezing Alexis’s legs to his sides. All he was able to do was focus on her and the path laid out in front of him. The higher they got, the darker it became, and thus the more he felt overcome with fatigue. As the last remnants of the sun dissolved from the sky, he felt the wind pick up. Somewhere, perhaps Mrs. Rose noticed his own disappearance too. He shuddered at the thought. Just as the path was becoming impossibly narrow, the air too thin to reach his lungs, he noticed the dense snow under his feet began to compact into a smooth plane.

Glittering up ahead in the moonlight, Patrick saw the entrance to the palace. He recalled old Gwendolyn’s words echoing in his head. It was just as she’d described: practically a mirage, translucent in the starry sky.

Patrick knelt before the shining steps, slowly undoing his snowshoes and the leather buckles that would free Alexis. He was moving much slower than when he’d first found her that day, which now seemed like eons ago. His arms were heavy like lead as he swung her ragdoll of a body around to his front. Her lips had once again reached a life-threatening blue, but she managed to dig a hand inside his coat to reach for the rose. Clutching onto it with a shaking hand, Alexis lay heavy in Patrick’s arms as he delicately carried the both of them up the steps. 

Though the entrance to the palace was open, ornate yet sleek in design, there was something nearly ghostly about it in quality. For a fraction of a moment, Patrick let the darker part of his mind flirt with the idea that David was no longer there. However, quick to soothe his thoughts, sharp beams of ice came from the rafters, abruptly protruding in criss-crossed patterns spanning the open entryway. Patrick quickly sprung into action, dodging amongst the heavy beams directed for him. 

“Hold on,” he muttered to the now unconscious woman in his arms. In a sudden moment of clarity, he knew that David was indeed within his grasp.

Once he finally made it through the entrance, the threat of incoming ice ceased. He found himself in a cavernous hall made entirely of ice with glowing orbs of light floating along its walls, illuminating the resplendent frosted patterns he hadn’t seen in ages. Patrick felt his jaw creak open, awestruck at the creation laid out before him. David did all this. 

No sooner had he taken in the remarkable floors and pillars laid out before him than he was knocked over with a sudden yet familiar gust of snow. 

_ “Get. Out.” _

Snowflakes stuck to Patrick’s eyelashes as he blinked his eyes open and struggled to sit up. His ears pricked at the soft and sharp footsteps advancing in his direction, and suddenly his vision cleared at the sight of the man before him.

David was just as Patrick remembered, although his younger self had given way to broader shoulders and a deepened five o’clock shadow. He was just as handsome as he was elegant, perhaps even more beautiful with age. David’s gaze remained fixated on Patrick, who was now nestled within his own personal snowbank, though his eyes showed no sign of warmth or kindness. David’s shoulders were wrapped in white fur overtop a thin gossamer cape that trailed behind him. And though Patrick’s eyes were locked onto David’s, he didn’t miss the plunging white neckline that exposed his clavicle, or the drooping material of his grey pants that came in tightly around his calves. 

Perhaps it was the fatigue of his journey, or the distraction of the beautiful man before him, but Patrick could barely so much as utter a word before David angrily flung a wrist in his direction.

“Why have you come?!” He shot out, dispelling the snow beneath Patrick and causing him to slide across the length of the icy hall floor.

Patrick felt the dull thud of his head and palms hitting the floor. Realizing Alexis had been forced out of his arms, Patrcik frantically scrambled to his feet.

“David, it’s me!” he called out. Patrick braced himself for another cloud of snow as he tried to meet David’s gaze.

David was now at a considerable distance from him, Alexis left behind in a heap of furs and blankets on the floor. Despite the physical space between them, Patrick knew that in David’s eyes he was an unrecognizable stranger. Patrick wanted nothing but to run towards him.

“David, please,” he whispered as he tried to close the distance between them.

“No!” His voice was unwavering and he shot his hand out with another stream of heavy winter wind. This time, instead of tossing Patrick aside, David held him up with the sheer force of his powers, gazing quizzically at him.

“Who are you?”

“An old friend.”

At that, David grew angry, forcibly dropping Patrick to the ground. Patrick cried out in pain before noticing he had been planted just a crawling distance away from Alexis. With a broken heart, he inched his way towards her side, hearing the frustrated noises from above him. The sound of wind picked up, as David slowly built a cyclone of wind and snow around him. 

Patrick fumbled as he came up against the fear of his own life, working to unravel the layers of warmth that had been protecting the younger Rose. As the pile of furs and blankets unfolded, the hand holding the single flower drifted onto the shimmering surface of ice.

A single gasp echoed through the depths of the great hall, followed by the cloud of snow collapsing at David’s feet.

“Alexis,” he breathed, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. 

Patrick watched as David ran towards their place on his icy floor, all traces of elegance evaporated. Paying no mind to Patrick, he expertly ripped off the remaining furs and blankets that clung to her body. First, running his fingers along the delicate rose and the long fingers that held them, then pulling her into his chest. David’s whole body shook in sobs, while the flower blossomed just as it would in summer. 

He looked up at Patrick with clouded eyes and tear-stricken cheeks, whispering “I remember,” to him.

Patrick choked out a sob he didn’t know was stuck in his throat. It was one of elation, the kind of joy that was only felt after an incredibly long journey.

Alexis stirred in David’s arms, slowly coming back to herself as the love from her brother filled her spirit. Wordlessly, she passed the rose back to Patrick, smiling as she wrapped herself up in furs and clumsily attempted to shuffle away from them.

“You kept it,” David whispered, an unconscious hand reaching toward the flower. But before he reached Patrick’s hand, David looked up at him with fear in his eyes. “But what if I--”

Patrick shook his head. “I know you’re not going to hurt me, David.” Then he willed himself to do what he wished he’d done all those years ago up on the roof. He took David’s hands and gently pulled him into his space. 

“Mmm, you’re so warm.”

Patrick chuckled as David’s head leaned heavy on his shoulder, breathing into his neck. He took the opportunity to remove his gloves, wrapping one arm around David to hold him close and spreading the other onto the exposed skin of his chest while still holding onto the rose. Underneath his fingers, Patrick felt David’s cold marble skin slowly rise in temperature. David’s whole body curled into Patrick’s chest, as if he was a cat that had found a spot in the sun. 

They must have stayed in a heap on the floor for an incomprehensible amount of time, for soon the sensation of rain began to slowly fall upon frosted curls. It was not the doing of David and Alexis’s father, but rather the glacial melting of the palace ceiling. David’s heart was no longer made of ice and stone. 

In the dead of night, the Rose siblings descended down to the base of the mountain. With Patrick having used all his reserves on the journey to David, it was now his turn to be carried. As they found Theodore and his pack of sled dogs at the lake’s edge, the man overjoyed to see Alexis alive and walking, they set out for the return trip. Alexis would be coming back for good, this time bringing David with her.

The trip was peaceful and silent. The frozen expanse melted behind them as the tension disintegrated from David’s shoulders with the knowledge that he was returning home. To his left was his sister, fast asleep with a dreamy smile on her face. And to his right was Patrick, warmth radiating out to their entire party. It was the same warmth and generosity that had anchored David, even after all their time apart. In that moment, David knew he was loved. He knew that as they continued on that narrow path of a river, everything could eventually melt into spring. It was a new beginning for all of them, and one he would be forever grateful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a really messy sketch of Snow Queen! David, but if anyone wants to draw him please be my guest! <3


	5. The Girl Holding the Crystal Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an epilogue... of sorts?

“And that is why it’s never winter,” she giggled, running a hand over a sandy brown braid.

”There’s no way that actually happened.” Stevie got up from the tarmac, brushing the crumbs from her bologna sandwich off of her overalls. “Ted just likes dogs—he doesn’t go sledding with them.”

Twyla shrugged, twisting her hair with one finger. 

It was a story Twyla only told her once—twice if one were to count the time neither of their parents remembered to pick them up from the after school program. The story was a comfort to her, but one that she quickly forgot about in the passing years as she grew older.

She forgot about it when her aunt asked her to run the motel after she ran off to Saskatchewan. She forgot about it when the mayor told her that the town would be acquiring some “special guests,” when a man in a bespoke suit and a woman wearing something that definitely wasn’t from the Blouse Barn walked into her reception. 

The faintest of memories tugged at her brain at the sound of such a strange last name. An odd, unfamiliar feeling.

But she didn’t remember a thing.

She didn’t remember when a beautiful and abrasive man came to ask her for towels. She didn’t remember when they were tangled up together in crimson satin sheets, though she blamed the temperature of his body on the drafty nature of the motel room.

She didn’t remember when he threatened to run away, though something within her knew she should be afraid. Afraid of losing him? Afraid of what he might do to himself? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. 

Something was always tugging at her brain. An unfamiliar feeling, a memory she couldn’t place. Stevie didn’t know what it was, but she knew she had to protect this man with all of her life. Even if she didn’t outwardly show it.

Then one day, everything changed. The world tilted on its axis. 

She was helping David unpack bottles of body milk when a plain and unassuming stranger walked through the door. His name rang a bell, but it felt like just an echo. Then he reached out to shake her hand, and suddenly her body was flooded with warmth.  _ Patrick. _

Patrick. 

Patrick and David.

She saw in it the looks between the two of them. She knew. 

Stevie could hardly hold it together for the rest of the afternoon. The old story had come crashing down on her, rendering her useless. Stevie couldn’t focus on organizing glass bottles of product. She remembered the drip in the ceiling in room six coming down on Mr. Rose’s face. The flowers in Moira’s Rose’s Garden that never needed watering. Every single one of David’s sweaters. The tale of the Roses,  _ those  _ Roses, was planted everywhere; she’d just been too blind to notice. 

And here was the missing piece of the puzzle: a kind and taunting gaze that had her best friend caught on a hook, cosmically bound. As the sun began to set in the late afternoon, she made a quick excuse to book it across the street to grab dinner for her and David and then collapsed into one of the chairs at Twyla’s counter. 

“Twy. They’re here.”

“Who’s here?”

“Patrick. He’s here. I can’t believe I forgot.”

Twyla looked back at her with a knowing smile as she dried one of the coffee mugs. 

“Patrick’s been here for a little while now.”

Stevie glanced around the cafe before leaning over the counter and lowering her voice. “How did you know they were coming? Patrick. David. All of them?”

Twyla just winked at her. 

“Look on the bright side, Stevie. We might finally get to have a white Christmas.”

Stevie sat back in her seat, stunned. Was Twyla pulling her leg? She truly couldn’t tell.

“My advice,” Twyla slid the takeaway containers onto the counter, “would be to protect both of them. What’s meant to be is meant to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Enjoy the rest of Frozen Over!


End file.
